Shortyism #1: It ain’t the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog that matters

What could me a more appropriate life lesson learned from a man nicknamed Shorty? As you might imagine from that nickname, Dad is not a man of great physical stature. He is 5’ 9” and weighed around 145 pounds for most of his adult life. He always joked that he never had to chance to grow because he was the baby of the family – the last born of six boys and four girls. His two oldest brothers were over six feet tall, so he claimed that by the time they and all the other brothers and sisters ate there was none left for him. Although he was kidding, there is probably some truth to it since he was born during the Great Depression.

Dad was always quick to let people know that they should never underestimate him because of his size and he always came back to “It ain’t the size of the dog that matters. It’s the size of the fight in the dog. And this dog has a lot of fight in him.” Dad shared with me that he also felt underestimated when he enlisted in the Army and some of the other new soldiers in basic training thought he was just a dumb hick from Alabama. Dad was especially sensitive to this as the only one of his brothers and sisters to graduate from high school. He was determined to prove the doubters wrong. By the end of basic training he scored the second highest marksman score in his unit and was classified an expert marksman (the top score in the unit was rated sniper level). But it was his AFQT and Classification Battery scores that made him even more proud. His scores qualified him for service in the Signal Corps as a cryptographer. So the teenager from rural Alabama who had never been out of the state was suddenly on his way to Tokyo with Q clearance to work with restricted data. He was not underestimated again during his military service and earned a commendation for his work.

I think this is why dad always loved an underdog – in life and in sport (unless they were playing Alabama of course). For the Ted Lasso fans out there, you might recall the scene where Ted is losing a match of darts as everyone in the bar seemed to expect. Then he reveals that he is actually quite the player and wanted to show everyone why you never underestimate the underdog – or anyone. Ted pulls out the win and quotes Walt Whitman, “Be curious, not judgmental.”  I saw so much of my dad in that scene (maybe minus quoting Whitman).

One of my favorite stories about Dad was how he broke his nose once playing softball (I think he broke it two separate times actually). He was coming up to bat and the big burly catcher behind him told him that his “puny ass” would never touch his home plate. Let’s just say that the intended intimidation just motivated Dad to find the fight in his dog. He got on base and one of his teammates got a hit and Dad took off from first to second and rounded third on the way home. But the throw from the outfield was on target and the catcher caught it and stood in front of home plate with the ball well ahead of Dad getting to the plate. The catcher dared my father to try coming home. Instead of retreating back to third, Dad threw it into extra gear and went head and shoulder into the big catcher blocking the plate. After the collision my father hopped up with a broken and bloodied nose while the catcher was laid out – and no longer holding the ball. Dad touched home plate and walked over to the catcher on the ground and said, “My puny ass just touched your home plate.” The big dog’s size didn’t match the little dog’s fight.

I called on Dad’s advice when I started at The University of Alabama. I had planned on attending another university in high school but stayed home to attend my local community college for the first two years because Dad experienced his first health problems when I was a senior in high school and I didn’t want to leave the family. So when the time came to finish my college degree I picked Alabama and was proud that I was transferring in a 4.0 GPA after working with Dad and in another part-time job. But on my first visit to campus to have my transcript evaluated I was stunned by the comments of the excessively arrogant advisor. He told me that I would never keep that GPA once I started taking “real” classes at the university and that my plans to be a student leader were a waste of time. This guy had no idea that he was talking to the son of one Shorty Nail who would not tolerate being belittled or underestimated. I studied harder than ever that first semester and planned to prove that advisor he was wrong. I made a perfect score on my first exam at Bama – an Intro to Computing Systems exam where the class average was in the 50s pre-curve. In the first auditorium class I ever took I made the highest score out of over 300 students. I didn’t make those grades because I was the smartest in either class. Far from it in fact. There were engineers in the Computing Systems class who could run circles around me with their knowledge of Physics or ability to dive into differential equations. But I was motivated to show that I had been underestimated and that my community college education was not inferior. I graduated with my 4.0 GPA intact, served as the president of a student organization, and was selected Student of the Year by a national honor society. As I was graduating I went back to the admissions office to let the advisor know that he had been wrong about me. But he was no longer there. Good news for my alma mater at least. And Shorty was proud.

I share that personal story not for the praises of How Great Thou Art, but to show how Dad influenced me to never let others determine what I could do in my life. Someone else might have listened to the fool advisor and never given their full effort, thinking it was futile to try. Not every person has a father willing to break their nose to show that they will not be underestimated or marginalized. Those of us in higher education and leader positions have an obligation to find the talent of those who have entrusted their futures to us and allow that talent to flourish. We should never judge a person because we think we know who they are or where they come from. Let’s work together to find that fight in every dog. Shorty will tell you it’s a lot less painful than breaking your nose!